The Bad Mother's Handbook

by Kate Long

  ‘Is that normal, to sleep so long?’ I could feel myself panicking again.

  ‘Oh, yes. Labour’s a very tiring experience and not just for the mum. He’ll wake up when he’s ready. My goodness, you’ll be praying for him to go to sleep before he’s much older!’

  I leant over and watched his crumpled face. There was absolutely no movement. I looked for signs of breathing but there were too many blankets round him so I gingerly swung my legs out of bed ow ow ow ow and started to unwrap his body. At last his chest was uncovered and I could see it rising and falling. Thank God. I got back into bed and lay there watching that small movement, up and down, because if I didn’t it might stop.

  He didn’t wake properly until after dinner and by then I was convinced he was going to starve to death. ‘Help me feed him,’ I said to the nurse pathetically.

  I’d just got my boobs out when Mum walked in.

  ‘Oh, Christ, you’ve not brought anyone with you? Imagine if my dad saw me like this, or Daniel!’

  Mum rolled her eyes and drew the curtains round. ‘How are you getting on?’

  ‘I can’t seem to make him open his mouth wide enough.’ I looked down at the feeble scrap rooting about blindly. ‘See, he hasn’t a clue. I thought it was instinct.’

  The midwife manoeuvred him around and pushed another pillow under my arm. ‘Stroke his cheek, that makes him open his mouth.’ She took hold of my breast and sort of stuffed it between the baby’s lips. It was a shock having another woman touch me like that.

  I shivered. ‘I don’t like this. It feels funny.’ The baby tugged at my nipple and broke away. He started to cry at a pitch that went right through you.

  ‘I don’t think you’re going to be able to do this, Charlotte, it’s very difficult you know. You might be better off bottle-feeding,’ said Mum.

  I pulled my head up, annoyed. ‘Give me a chance. We’ve not been at it two minutes. Anyway, what did you do with me?’

  Mum looked smug. ‘Oh, you were entirely breastfed for four months.’

  I frowned. ‘Well, so’s he going to be. Come on, matey. Put some effort into it.’ I pulled his face against me and again felt that questing mouth on my skin.

  ‘Here,’ said the midwife. She pulled my shoulder forward and turned his head. He shifted in my arms, latched himself on and relaxed. ‘That’s right.’ She stood back to admire the composition. ‘Now, can you see him swallowing? That’s what you need to watch for. It’s a slightly tricky technique at first, you need to persevere, that’s all. Give me a shout if you need me again.’ Mum gave her a wink and I knew I’d been had. I didn’t care.

  I sat up like a queen, like a mummy, while he suckled on. ‘Well,’ I said after we’d sat in reverent silence for a while, ‘pigs can do it, and cows and sheep.’

  ‘Dogs and cats.’

  ‘Mice and rats.’

  And we both started to laugh.

  *

  IT WAS THE first time in all the pregnancy I’d realized you were an actual person, and although you’d got your dad’s blue eyes, the expression behind them was mine. Stubborn. Perhaps that’s why we’ve argued so much, being so alike. I knew you’d be trouble though, even then, but there was nothing at all I could do about it because I’d just fallen down a big well of love.

  *

  Baby Jesus had the Three Wise Men: I had Dad, Daniel and Nan. Dad came first, shuffling in as if he had a poker up his bum.

  ‘What’s up with you?’ I asked, amused.

  ‘I ’ate hospitals, me. Brrrrrrr. Even the smell of ’em makes the hairs on my neck prickle.’ He sat down in the easy chair by the bed but kept his back straight, alert for any sign of attack. ‘How are we, then? Oh, I see him. He’s a grand little chap, in’t he? Very nice. Well done.’

  ‘How have you been getting on? What did you do about Nan’s bag?’

  He grinned. ‘Oh, I phoned that woman from Crossroads and pleaded with her to send someone, I said it were an emergency, like. I told her to send a nice young nurse, preferably a blonde.’

  ‘And did she?’

  ‘Aye. His name were Simon.’

  I sniggered. ‘Serves you right.’

  ‘P’raps it does. Hey, before I forget I brought you a book. I know you can’t get enough on ’em.’ He pulled out a carrier bag from under the chair and extracted a Penguin Classic. ‘There you are. I looked at the cover an’ I thought, That’ll be right up our Charlotte’s street. I got it off a bloke at work, he has whole van full of ’em.’

  I picked it up off the bedspread. Tess of the D’Urbervilles, I read. ‘Oh, Dad, you are priceless!’ I gave him a hug.

  ‘What’s up? You’ve not read it, have you? I dunno what it’s about but it looks like the sort of thing you like.’

  I muffled my laughter on his shoulder.

  He didn’t stop long but before he went he gave me something else.

  ‘Come here an’ I’ll tell you summat you’ll bless me for over the next few weeks. It’ll be t’ best piece of advice anyone gives you. Come closer, I’ll have to whisper it.’

  I moved closer, intrigued.

  ‘When that baby of yours cries you’ll want to run to it right away. And that’s fine, most o’ t’ time. But there’ll be some days as you can’t cope and he’s screaming away and you think you might throw him out the window. Well, at times like that you change his nappy, try him with a bottle, get him burped and then you leave him. You close the door, go downstairs and have a cup of tea. Nobody phones the police, God dun’t strike you dead with a thunderbolt; you give yourself five minutes and then you go back. And if you’re really lucky, little bugger’ll have gone to sleep.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad.’

  ‘No problem.’

  Next came Daniel, bearing a huge bunch of flowers. There was also a book on babycare by Miriam Stoppard.

  ‘I don’t know if you’ve got this already, but my father says it’s a definitive work.’ He tossed it on the bed and lounged in the chair. ‘I can’t believe how normal you look after all that trauma.’

  ‘Get away, I look like a dog. And I feel as I’d been run over. Just as well he’s so good.’ I nodded at the cot.

  Daniel rose and peered across. ‘Skinny little chap, isn’t he? Dad says he wouldn’t have had a chance to lay down all his fat stores but that he’s a good weight for his age.’ He poked the baby experimentally but it didn’t stir. ‘Does he do any tricks?’

  ‘None at all. Very disappointing. Oh, yeah, he does black poo.’

  ‘Lovely.’ He sat back down again. ‘Decided what to call him yet?’

  ‘Nope. I was going to have a chat with Mum about it. She might know some family names I could use.’ I looked across at the cot again and got another electric shock of disbelief. ‘It feels so weird having him here.’

  ‘Yeah, I know what you mean.’ Daniel took his glasses off and began to clean them on his shirt. ‘I’m sorry I was so crap towards the end.’

  I turned to him in surprise. ‘You weren’t. You were great. I’d never have got through the first few hours on my own.’

  ‘Yeah, but when you started having those terrible pains . . . I didn’t know what to do, and it was awful watching you like that and not being able to do anything. Plus, I think in retrospect I should have worn a placard round my neck saying NO, I’M NOT THE FATHER. There were one or two embarrassing moments with nursing staff. One of them asked me whether . . .’ He gave an awkward laugh. ‘I’ll tell you some other time. Hey, did you ever actually use Julia’s birthing tape?’

  ‘Oh, that. No, I forgot all about it. Actually being strapped to the monitor was bad enough, I couldn’t have coped with headphones as well.’

  ‘You can listen to it now; it might help you relax.’

  ‘Good idea,’ I said. But even as he was digging in my suitcase I realized that I couldn’t put my phones on and listen for the baby. It was going to be a very long time before I wore my Walkman again.

  Nan came in the evening. She looked smart, as
if she was going to church, in a red two-piece and pearls. You could tell she was worked up, though.

  ‘Where’s little thing,’ she quavered. Mum guided her round to the cot and she gazed at the baby in total adoration. ‘Eeh, little lamb. It’s like our Jimmy, safe and sound. In’t he beautiful? Eeh. How can they hurt ’em, honest? Oh, Charlotte love, he’s beautiful.’ She gave me a perfumy kiss and Mum installed her in the best chair. Her whole attention was focused on the cot. ‘They’re all as matters really, babies. Han’t he got a lot of hair? He does favour our Jimmy.’

  ‘Who’s Jimmy? He can’t favour anyone, can he?’ I mouthed at Mum.

  ‘No,’ she whispered, ‘but don’t say anything.’

  I watched Mum watch Nan and I thought she seemed different with her, somehow. Nothing I could put my finger on, but sort of calmer towards her. I might have been imagining it of course; I was brimming with hormones.

  ‘Can I hold him?’ asked Nan, her face shining.

  I glanced at Mum. ‘Will she be all right?’

  ‘She’ll be fine. I’ll keep my arm round him. Let her, Charlotte, it’ll mean such a lot.’

  Mum scooped him up and laid him gently across Nan’s lap so that his head was cradled in the crook of her elbow. He was coming round and his blue eyes were peeping. Nan sat stiffly as if she hardly dared breathe.

  ‘Have you got any further with names yet?’ asked Mum.

  ‘No. I keep thinking, who does he look like, but then getting depressed . . . I don’t think he looks like Paul, do you?’

  ‘I only ever saw him twice, if you remember, and that was nearly a year ago. But it doesn’t matter, even if he does. Who you are is the way you were brought up, it’s nothing to do with your genes. I’m sure of that.’ She pulled a strange expression.

  ‘If you say so. But you’d better tell the scientists so they don’t waste any more time on research. Anyway, I hope to God he isn’t like Paul, I hope he’s a nicer person than that.’

  ‘We’ll bring him up right,’ said Mum. ‘He’ll know the difference between right and wrong.’

  ‘And if he doesn’t we’ll smack his bottom.’

  ‘No, we won’t,’ said Mum quickly. ‘We’ll find other ways. You shouldn’t hit children, not for any reason.’

  It took a second for this revelation to sink in. ‘Bloody hell, Mum,’ I said outraged, ‘I wish you’d thought like that when I was small. You never had any problem slapping my legs. My God, there was that time in Stead and Simpson’s . . .’

  ‘I know, I know. I’m sorry.’ Her mouth had gone all funny, as if she was going to cry, so I left it. Maybe these hormones were infectious.

  Nan began to sing to the baby in a wobbly voice.

  ‘How can I be poor

  When there’s gold in your darling curls?

  How can I be poor

  When your dear little teeth are like so many pearls?

  Your lips to me are rubies

  Your eyes are diamonds rare

  So while I have you, my baby,

  I’m as rich as a millionaire.’

  ‘Oh, Nan, that’s lovely. He hasn’t got golden curls, though.’

  ‘He hasn’t got teeth, either, but I don’t suppose he’s going to put in a complaint.’

  ‘What should we call him, Nan?’

  ‘Eeh, tha’ll soon be spittin’ in t’ fire,’ she told the baby. ‘Tha will. Yes tha will.’ He stared up with round unfocused eyes as she waggled her head at him.

  Mum opened her handbag and pulled out her diary. ‘I made a note of some family names for you.’ She flicked through the gilt-edged pages to find the scrap of ribbon. ‘Here we are. There’s Bill, of course; William if you like. It’d make Nan’s day if you called him that.’ She smiled over at Nan but got no response; Nan was too wrapped up in a baby bubble to notice. ‘Harold; you could shorten that to Harry; that was Nan’s father’s name. Jimmy, or James of course; that was Nan’s little brother.’

  ‘I didn’t know she had a brother.’

  ‘Oh, he died very young. I think he was knocked down by a tram. Or that might have been her dad, I’m not sure. She’s had a tragic life, really, because her mum died when Nan was only in her thirties, and she lost her father when she was a teenager.’

  ‘Like you.’

  ‘Yes, like me. He’d have loved that baby, you know.’ I saw her eyes flick over Nan’s pink-and-white head and over the tiny black-haired scalp inches below. The baby’s skin was still dark purply-mottled; Nan’s was pale and blue-veined and liver-spotted. Mum heaved a great sigh which turned into a yawn. ‘Sorry, love, I’m done in.’

  ‘You are?’

  ‘I know, I know, I remember what it’s like.’ She peered in the diary again. ‘Oh and then there’s Peter, that was her grandad, so your great-great-grandad.’

  I shifted my bra strap and winced.

  ‘They’re a bit like icebergs, families; all that hidden history.’

  ‘I don’t think icebergs are anything like as hazardous, though,’ said Mum closing the book.

  *

  MY VERY first memory is rocking our Jimmy in his cradle by the fire and gazing into that terrible red glow deep down in the coals, while Grandma Marsh sang to lull ’im to sleep.

  ‘Th’ art welcome little Bonny Brid

  But shouldn’t ha’ come just when tha did.’

  She allus called him Bonny Brid; well he were, a little angel. I were never jealous; I just couldn’t wait for ’im to grow up so’s we could play together. By eight he were t’ best in our street at spittin’; he’d fortify himself wi’ pop beforehand then give t’ others monkey nuts, casual like, so when it came to it they were dried out; he won all sorts that way. An’ if I were feeling down he’d sing ‘Tickle me Timothy, Tickle me do’ till I cheered up; he were allus full o’ fun. That time he got under t’ table playin’ Pirates and pulled t’ leg so th’ end dropped down, I told me mother it was me even though her best cup were broken. An’ I ought to have tekken more care of him. If I’d been with him that day down by the canal—

  *

  Out of the corner of my eye I became aware of movement. ‘Nan?’

  Nan was slowly slumping forward, the baby sliding down her lap. My heart thumped with fright but Mum made a grab for him and caught him as he began to roll. I saw a thread of saliva hang from the corner of Nan’s mouth and stain her red top.

  ‘Quick, Charlotte,’ said Mum, dropping the baby back in his cot and rushing to Nan’s side. ‘Press that buzzer of yours and get a nurse.’ I hesitated for a second, stunned at the sight of Nan deflating like a balloon. ‘Do it!’ she shouted. ‘I think Nan’s having a stroke.’

  THEY SAY as it’s a tunnel wi’ a light at th’ end, but I found mysen on t’ canal bank at Ambley, wi’ Jimmy.

  ‘Awreet?’ he says, big grin on his face.

  ‘You’re looking well,’ I say, ‘considering.’ He just laughs and puts his arm through mine.

  He tugs me over in the direction of the bridge – it’s a beautiful day, all reflections in the water, very peaceful, and as we get near I can see all sorts of folk sitting on the opposite bank having a picnic. They’ve a blanket and some bottles of ale, a basket full of barm cakes and pies and things. There’s a lot of babies lying on t’ ground, waving their legs in the air or sitting up and patting the grass round them, chuckling to themselves the way babies do – and the queer thing is, there’s not one on ’em skrikin’. One’s crawled ovver an’ cadged itssen a barm cake and it’s chewin’ away, must have a tooth coming. There’s a little girl laid out on her front in a summer frock and cardigan, blowing bubbles at them out of a basin of soapy water, she’s got a bit of wire bent in a loop. Jimmy’s arm tightens on mine and I squeeze back, all warm. I’m dying, I think, and it’s lovely.

  ‘Look,’ says Jimmy, pointing under the trees, and it’s Grandma Marsh and Grandma Fenton; Grandma Marsh is holding up a skein of red wool while Grandma Fenton winds it into a ball. They’re nattering so much neither of them
take me on. Jimmy digs me in the ribs and makes a face, so I give him a hug.

  ‘You han’t changed,’ I tell him. He shrugs. I want to ask him about our mum and dad but something tells me to wait.

  There’s a tenor horn starts up and I know it’s Bill before I spot him. He’s at the water’s edge standing very still and straight. He doesn’t wave, never takes the horn away from his lips, but he’s playing for me. ‘Stranger in Paradise’; the notes dance across the water like light, like a language. There’s such love in the air, you could get drunk on it. There’s no rush. He’ll wait for me.

  We’re nearly at the bridge.

  ‘Come on,’ says Jimmy, ‘only a cock-stride now.’ He pulls me along by the hand and his eyes are shining. I want to run, because suddenly I’ve all this energy, maybe I could just jump the canal, but as I put my fingers on the coping stones darkness comes up round the side of my vision and everything falls away. And while I watch, there is a pin-point of light, tiny, getting bigger. It’s coming towards me very fast, very fast

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘MRS HESKETH! Nancy! Can you hear us?’

  You’ve to go away. It’s hurting my eyes. I’m dead.

  *

  I SAT IN that hospital corridor for hours. Might as well have moved in, the amount of time I was spending there. One floor up in another wing I’d sat with Charlotte while she gave birth; now I was waiting to see whether my mother was dying. Sorrow and joy a few hundred yards from each other. Turn left, up the stairs and through the double doors.

  Over my head the strip light hummed. My eyes were sore with lack of sleep. Even when I’d managed to snatch a few hours it had all been trains again, exhausting, only this time I’d known where I was headed; I was trying to get back home. I would have done too if that bloody platform hadn’t turned into Chorley market.